Ten days after I arrived in Sicily from America, I boarded the squeaking two-car train in Vallelunga and left the Anna Tasca Lanza Cooking School for the capital city of Palermo to film the Festa di Santa Rosalia, dedicated to the city's patron saint.

When the jovial train conductor heard my accent, she called me “principessa,” and asked if I was from New York. When I told her no—Portland Oregon, near California—she introduced me to the rest of the train as “California.” We’ll see if the nickname sticks next time I board the train.

Giacomo, a born-and-raised Palermitan, met me at the train station in late afternoon, shepherding me to his car for an authentic driving tour: speeding through ancient stone alleyways barely wider than the car and weaving between cars and motorbikes on the wider avenues. His driving was an art. When I asked him if the traffic was because it was post-work rush hour, he laughed: no, this was just Palermo. It did not take me long to see the beauty in this chaos. Layers of history from its inhabitants and rulers--Phoenician, Roman, Byzantine, Greek, Arab, Norman--have combined to create a landscape where the traditions and cuisine are as unique as the architecture. Even though we arrived a few days before the July 15 feast and parade, the spirit of the festival pervaded the city. The main streets were strung with ornamental lights, the waterfront sidewalks already filling with ornately decorated stands selling a rainbow of candy, nuts, and snacks (more on this later!).

Palermo is rimmed on one side by the saturated azure of the Tyrrhenian sea, and, on the other sides, steep cliffs and the impressive, shadow-casting Monte Pellegrino. As we left the tangle of old town streets, we wound our way up the mountain, passing spandex-clad bikers and hillsides dotted with clumps of prickly pear cactuses as we neared the Sanctuaria di Santa Rosalia.

Behind the baroque facade of the 1625 sanctuary is a dimly lit and drippy grotto, where, as legend goes, the saint's remains were found, thereby delivering the city from plague in the early 1600s.

﻿The legend of Santa Rosalia: Born around 1130 of Norman nobility, Rosalia grew up in Palermo's impressive, sprawling Palazzo di Normani. Devoutly religious and seeking escape from marriage, she ran away from the city as a young teenager, eventually finding a cave on (you guessed it...) Monte Pellegrino, where she spent the few decades until her death devoting herself to God. Five centuries later, in May of 1624, the bubonic plague arrived with a trading vessel to the city. Citizens prayed to no avail to their four patron saints (Santa Cristina, Santa Ninfa, Santa Olivia and Santa Agata), and, with the city under quarantine, the death tolls climbed to the thousands. When a wandering soap-maker lost on the mountain was visited by a vision of Santa Rosalia--guiding him up the hill to a pile of her bones, asking him to return them to the city and give her a proper Christian burial so that the plague would stop--he organized her a procession through the city, which ended in traditional funeral rites. The plague ceased, and Rosalia quickly replaced the previous patron saints. The hillside sanctuary was built soon after, a site now filled with a range of votive offering, among them handwritten notes, jewel-crusted jewelry, pregnancy tests, and ribbon-tied bouquets of flowers.

Giacomo interviews a local man outside of the sanctuary about his memories of the festival through the years .

On September 9, many Palermitans make a barefoot pilgrimmage up the mountain to honor Santa Rosalia's memory, and we glimpsed a couple doing exactly this in the hot sun of mid-July. I would like to make this trek, would like to follow the cobblestone path worn soft with the feet of thousands, dodging the smooth green of darting lizards, watching the buildings shrink and the sounds of the city turn into a blur below. Our weekend was busy, and we didn't have time...but maybe soon.

On September 9, many Palermitans make a barefoot pilgrimmage up the mountain to honor Santa Rosalia's memory, and we glimpsed a couple doing exactly this in the hot sun of mid-July. I would like to make this trek, would like to follow the cobblestone path worn soft with the feet of thousands, dodging the smooth green of darting lizards, watching the buildings shrink and the sounds of the city turn into a blur below. Our weekend was busy, and we didn't have time...but maybe soon.

﻿﻿Babbaluci﻿﻿

The next day, Giacomo and I got up close and personal filming street vendors selling babbalucci--tiny snails (or seasoned "worms with houses," as our Italian-English translation landed at), mixed with steaming olive oil, garlic, and parsley.

A traditional snack of Santa Rosalia, babbalucci are best eaten with your fingers right as they are handed to you, steaming on a paper plate. The men preparing them gave me a plate to sample as Giacomo maneuvered the camera. They're warm and salty, tangy with parsley, and--I thought--a bit awkward to slurp out of their little shells. An elderly man standing nearby saw I was having difficulty, and hobbled over, reaching onto my plate and picking up one of the chickpea-sized snails. He bit into the back of the shell, creating a tiny hole and--it seems--facilitating the slurp that followed. I thanked him profusely and started cracking into my own, but I couldn't help but notice that when he smiled, a row of his own chipped teeth grinned back at me. Needless to say, I finished my babbalucci teeth intact.

The vendors receive the snails in big plastic-netted bags, where the animals have been digesting their last meal without food or water. They are then emptied into cavernous pots of cool water for cleaning. Those that don't emerge from their shells are tossed out. Here, a few try to escape before the big boil.

The stands were scattered throughout the city, close enough to the street to feed both pedestrians, motor-bikers, and--through car windows--hungry drivers. Here, Palermitans share both conversation and, for empty snail shells, a trash can.

Torrone

Torrone, a candy-nut nougat popular at Santa Rosalia, is prepared right where it is sold at sidewalk stands along Palermo's waterfront.

When Fabrizia met us in Palermo, we set off through the warm twilight to the kiosks on the waterfront, Foro Italico. The stands sold everything--miniature plastic animals, underwear and socks, pirated DVDs--but we went to the street food so beloved in the city.

Gelato di campagna: this "ice cream of the countryside" is a homage to the Italian flag, a sugary nougat made with cinnamon, pistachio and almond, and candied fruit.

Any kind of nuts--we saw almonds, pistachios, hazelnuts, peanuts, and even sesame--are added to sugar, honey, and egg whites to make torrone, a time-tested and chewy (but not too tooth-wrenching!) confection.

I loved watching the dance of the confectioners, as the steaming hot torrone mixture was poured onto their marble tables and they began to scoop and shape the mixture with what looked like oversized metal spatulas. They were acutely aware of how the torrone would cool, timing their movements as they flattened, scraped, and cut the nougat. I wish I could describe this better, but you'll just have to see the video footage. It's an incredible process--watched through the windows of passing cars and by gathering sidewalk crowds--and it ends in a treat that is in turns chewy, crunchy, smooth, salty and sweet.

Meanwhile, the bounty of the city's street food deserves a cookbook of its own, and though we couldn't film it all, Giacomo humored me by leading me to his favorite stalls to sample--and snap photographs--of a wide range of Palermitan specialities.

Arancine: Risotto (in this case, with mushrooms) fried in breadcrumbs. These perfect hand-held snacks are often made with mozzarella and meaty tomato sauce.

Fresh seafood galore

A sandwich of spleen splices fried in lard, finished with a squeeze of lemon. Giacomo assures me it's delicious--and it's wildly popular--but I made the mistake of ordering this (without knowing what was in it) when I was wandering around solo. I'm not sure if I picked the wrong place, but it'll be a while before I get up the nerve to try this again...

Polpo bollito: A plate-sized octopus cut in bite-sized pieces and eaten with a squeeze of lemon. I loved this: it tasted like the ocean.

Giacomo asserts his Palermitan street-skills as he beats the crowds to order freshly fried panelle

Panelle (fried chickpea fritters) and potato croquettes, often served together in a sandwich with a sesame bun

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ABOUT US

This film project is produced by the Anna Tasca Lanza Cooking School in the heart of Sicily. We hope to chronicle the many saint festivals in Sicily and how they support slow food cultures on the island. We anticipate that it will hit film festivals and be available for sale in 2015. This website and blog are to chronicle our progress for our financial supporters, followers, and friends.